


Wrapped in Regret

by BubbleGumLizard



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Falling In Love, M/M, Meddling John, Meddling Sherlock, Misunderstandings, Pining, Sentimental Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 10:36:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5087452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubbleGumLizard/pseuds/BubbleGumLizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft and Greg have been having no-strings-attached sex for several months, when it all starts to unravel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had intended to take the week before NaNoWriMo off, but I couldn't help myself. This story popped into my head, so I had to start writing it up. It should be finished by the end of the week, something quick to kill time until November starts. Enjoy!

If you had asked Mycroft, he wouldn’t have been able to tell you how he had come to be at this point. He pushed back, grunting with the effort to hold himself steady. “Harder, harder,” he said urgently, dropping his head and resting it on the pillow under him.

He gasped as Greg picked up his pace, thrusting into him, hands on Mycroft’s hips, their flesh slapping together loudly.

Mycroft grunted and forced his face into the pillow, trying to stifle his cries. Without warning, Greg grabbed his short hair and pulled his head back. “I want to hear you enjoy yourself,” Greg growled, thrusting his hips even harder, if it were possible.

Mycroft pushed back again, opening his mouth and letting out a wail that he was sure would scandalize the neighbors. He heard himself crying out with each thrust, which sent thrills of pleasure through him. Greg was hitting just the right spot with every thrust, sending Mycroft ever closer to his orgasm.

“Oh, yes,” Greg said through gritted teeth “Oh yes, come apart for me, baby.”

“I can’t--can’t hold--” Mycroft couldn’t get the words out, panting between shouts as he neared the end.

“Come on, come on,” Greg groaned and Mycroft knew that he was close.

Mycroft closed his eyes and let himself tip over the edge, shouting loudly as his orgasm crashed through him. Greg thrust wildly, completely out of control as his own orgasm overtook him. When it was over, he collapsed next to where Mycroft fell, panting.

“That was amazing,” Mycroft said with a sigh, sitting up as he realized that he was lying in a mess.

“Don’t rush away,” Greg said, reaching for him. He scooted back so that there was room on the clean portion of the bed and pulled Mycroft into his arms, holding on tightly.

“You enjoy cuddling far too much,” Mycroft said, but he relaxed into the embrace, closing his eyes.

“You always rush away. Bask a little.”

Mycroft didn’t say anything, he just rested his head on Greg’s shoulder and closed his eyes. “I suppose I can see the draw for cuddling.”

After a few minutes, Mycroft sighed deeply and stood. “I really must be going,” he said, beginning to dress.

Greg propped himself up on an elbow, watching Mycroft. “Why do you always leave so soon? We could go get a meal or have a cup of coffee, if you want.”

Mycroft didn’t make eye contact as he buttoned up his shirt. “Unfortunately, I am an exceedingly busy man. If I weren’t, I might enjoy wasting an evening with you, but as it is, I do not have the time to spare.” He cursed himself for his phrasing, able to see the hurt look on Greg’s face, even without looking at him. He wanted to spend time with Greg, but they had decided to keep their relationship casual and Mycroft was afraid that if he spent too much time with Greg, he wouldn’t be able to keep emotions from taking over. So he kept Greg at arm’s reach, never staying long enough after sex for things to get too close.

“You don’t even have time to shower?”

“I will shower at my home before returning to work for the evening.”

“Mycroft, wait,” Greg said, the tone of his voice making Mycroft turn to look at him. “I miss you.”

“Don’t be silly, I’m right here. It isn’t possible for you to miss me when I am standing in front of you.” Mycroft finished dressing, nodded at Greg, and left without another word.

***

Greg cursed at his phone, dropping it in a drawer and slamming the drawer shut. It had been two days since he had last spoken to Mycroft, despite sending at least a dozen texts. He had finally tried to call and had been surprised to find the phone answered by an assistant he had never met, who refused to give him any information about Mycroft and would only say that she would pass on the message.

The door opened and Sherlock rushed in, followed by John. “What did you do to my brother?” Sherlock asked, once again forgetting any sort of greeting.

“I did nothing to your brother,” Greg said, frowning. “If anything, he…” he wasn’t sure how to finish that without causing an embarrassing situation for all of them, so he just let his words trail off. He could hardly tell Sherlock that Greg was upset by his brother’s lack of cuddling after sex.

“Mycroft hasn’t answered his phone for a couple days and Sherlock has some theory about the two of you,” John explained helpfully, sitting down.

“He hasn’t been the same since the two of you started shagging.”

“We’re not—wait, how do you know that?” Greg had thought that he and Mycroft had been very clever about hiding their activities from Sherlock. It had been nearly six months and the emotional breakdown that Greg assumed would happen never came.

“Obvious,” Sherlock said, waving his hand.

“Something about your shoelaces. Good to have it confirmed, though. I thought Sherlock was losing it for a while,” John said. At least he was cheerful, Greg thought. Someone should be happy about this situation.

“So what happened?”

Greg shrugged. “I have no idea what happened, Sherlock. I would like to speak to him as well.”

“Well, fix it. There’s some tedious family business I need him to take care of.”

“And by that, he means that he owes some money and he expects Mycroft to cover it.”

“It isn’t important. That’s why Mycroft should be the one dealing with it. While we’re here, do you have any cases for me?”

As soon as Greg was able to get them out of his office, he sat down to his computer and opened a new email.

**Mycroft,**

**Did something happen the other day? I’ve been trying to contact you. Sherlock is worried and so am I. Get back to me as soon as possible.**

**xx Greg**

He thought about it for a moment and then deleted the kisses. The last thing he needed was Mycroft thinking that Greg was getting too attached. He was concerned that his desire to cuddle was what had caused the problem and he didn’t want to make it worse. He shut his computer down and prepared to leave for the day, hoping that Mycroft would let him know what was going on soon.

As Greg walked into his flat and set about making himself dinner, he thought about his relationship with Mycroft. They had been friends first, regularly going out for drinks and meals, before one particularly memorable evening, when Greg had been lamenting his lack of sex.

_“It’s been nearly a year, mate,” Greg had said, taking another swig of his pint. “I just want some easy, uncomplicated sex. I don’t want to date, I don’t want to fall in love, I just want to get a leg over.”_

_“Well, I’m sure there are many young women you could find to satisfy that particular urge,” Mycroft had said mildly._

_“I don’t think I want a woman just now. It’s been so long since I had a man. That’s the urge I want to satisfy.”_

Greg thought of that now, cursing himself for even mentioning such a thing to Mycroft. Their twice-weekly meetings had turned into sex sessions that ended with Mycroft rushing out. When once they would stay out late or sit on each other’s couches watching old movies, now they only spent time in the bedroom, usually Greg’s. He missed spending time with his friend and felt like the friendship had more or less ended. He wouldn’t have even called Mycroft a fuck buddy, because there was no “buddy” part of it anymore.

***

Mycroft was sitting at his desk when the email came through. He stared at it for several minutes, not sure if he should respond. He had been avoiding everyone and working nearly nonstop, trying to get his sexy detective inspector out of his head. Not his detective inspector, he reminded himself, just a mate who shagged him senseless every time they saw each other.

He wrote out a couple replies, trying to find a way to not seem like he was becoming needy. He had never intended for things to turn out the way they had; at the time, it had seemed like such a good idea. Greg had been complaining of wanting sex and Mycroft had been feeling very similarly of late. It had been years since his last relationship and uncomplicated sex had seemed like a perfect arrangement. He had known of Greg’s attraction to him for some time, but he had thought that Greg had never indulged that particular facet of his sexuality. When he realized that he had misread his friend, then, he felt very confident that his advances would be well received.

_When they had returned to Greg’s flat to watch the movie, Mycroft had sat much closer than he normally did. Over the course of the movie, he inched his hand closer and closer, until it was resting on Greg’s thigh. When he started to stroke Greg’s leg, they had looked at each other and Mycroft made his move, leaning forward and kissing Greg before the other man could react._

_“What…?” Greg had asked, pulling away slightly._

_“Uncomplicated sex, yes?” Mycroft had answered simply and they both moved at the same time, clashing together and tumbling off the couch in their excitement._

That had been the last time that they had done anything other than sex, Mycroft mused as he deleted yet another unsatisfactory reply. While he was now completely fulfilled sexually, he felt a hole in his life, a laughing, joyous Lestrade-shaped hole.

Finally, he managed an email that he thought expressed his feelings well enough. If Greg had a problem with it, he would just have to deal with that later.

**Greg,**

**I would like to redefine the parameters of our relationship. I am no longer interested in pursuing a physical relationship with you. I understand if this changes your desire to have any sort of relationship with me.**

**Mycroft**

He sent the email before he could stop himself, trying to return to work, but finding himself unable to concentrate. He cleared his head by going for a walk, hoping that he would have a response by the time he returned. When he arrived back at his desk, he was disappointed to find that his personal mailbox was empty. Resigning himself to a new life without his best friend, he through himself back into his work, trying to forget that he ever had any association with Greg.

***

Greg stared at the email on his computer screen, not exactly sure how to respond. He didn’t know why Mycroft wanted to stop having sex. They had proved to be extremely compatible in bed, both enjoying their shags more than either had anticipated.

Perhaps that was why things had become so complicated, Greg thought. Sexual compatibility had confused the situation until their friendship had all but vanished.

He wasn’t sure why Mycroft seemed to think that Greg wouldn’t want to still be friends, but now that he was thinking about it, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to go back to being friends. Sex with Mycroft had come to be a big part of his life. When they weren’t having sex, Greg was thinking about it nearly constantly. He wished that they spent time together without having sex, but he wasn’t sure that he would be able to spend time with Mycroft without thinking of the time they had shared in his bedroom.

He had, of course, become worried about the depth of his attachment to Mycroft, finding him occasionally daydreaming about inviting Mycroft to stay over and spend the night cuddling, waking in the morning and sharing breakfast in bed. He was sure that if he had suggested something of that nature to Mycroft, he would receive a reminder that “Holmeses don’t do sentiment.”

He sent a reply to Mycroft asking to meet for a drink that night at their usual pub, which they hadn’t visited in four months. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say to Mycroft when they met, but he was sure that something would come to him. He knew that the last thing he wanted was to lose Mycroft entirely, so he needed to figure something out to fix the situation.

By the time Greg arrived at the pub that night, he had a plan. He was going to give in to everything Mycroft wanted. If Mycroft didn’t want to have sex anymore, they wouldn’t have sex ever again. Greg thought that perhaps he would give up sex for the rest of his life if it meant that his relationship with Mycroft would go back to how wonderful it had been.

Mycroft was sitting at their usual table in the back, two pints sitting in front of him. It had always surprised Greg to see Mycroft in a normal pub, drinking a normal pint (or five) like any of Greg’s friends. When he had first met Mycroft, he had been sure that the man never drank anything but the finest wine. To find that he liked the same types of drinks and bad old movies as Greg was a surprise, albeit a pleasant one.

“Evening,” Greg said, dropping into the spare chair and smiling at his friend. “How was work?”

“Satisfactory. I contacted Sherlock, his problem is sorted. I apologize that he blamed you for my absence.”

Did Mycroft seem particularly cold? Greg couldn’t tell if Mycroft was acting normal or if something was still wrong. Probably nervous about the email he sent, Greg told himself, not wanting to make himself worry until it was absolutely necessary.

“Well, we may as well get it over with,” Greg said grimly. “If you want to stop the sex, that’s fine.”

Mycroft nodded stiffly, clearly uncomfortable. “That’s settled, then.”

“I hope you didn’t feel like you had to keep having sex with me after you wanted to stop.”

“Of course.” Mycroft didn’t offer anything beyond that, he just stared into his drink.

There was an extremely awkward silence that seemed to stretch forever. Greg kept opening his mouth to say something, but found that nothing he could think to say properly expressed what he was thinking. The silence seemed to last forever, until finally

Mycroft stood and pulled on his coat.

“Unfortunately, I have some business to attend. I shall be out of the country for the next three weeks, so I won’t be able to meet again for some time. I shall inform you when I return.”

Greg nodded, feeling like his happiness was walking away with Mycroft. He had a feeling that he was in for a very miserable few weeks, during which he would miss his best friend.

***

Mycroft drank his tea and read the paper, trying not to look at his phone and think about the fact that he had been back in London for a week and hadn’t yet contacted Greg. He wasn’t sure what to say that would stop things from being as awkward as they had been the last time they had seen each other. So he had pretended to forget to send the text, avoiding Sherlock just enough that he hoped Greg wouldn’t find out.

“Mycroft?” a familiar voice asked and he froze, wishing that the ground beneath him would open up and swallow him.

Mycroft stood and turned to face Greg. “Greg, hi,” he said, not quite making eye contact. “I forgot to text you.”

“Ah yes, you’re known for your forgetfulness,” Greg said, nodding slowly. He clearly knew that Mycroft was avoiding him again. Mycroft braced for the angry words he was sure were on the tip of Greg’s tongue. “Well, I suppose I will see you around, Mycroft.”

Mycroft looked up at the lack of anger and realized that he hadn’t made Greg angry. Instead, Greg looked like he would have preferred if Mycroft had hit him. Pain and confusion were written all over Greg’s face. At the sight of him looking so miserable, Mycroft almost said something, anything, to make everything better. He was just on the verge of offering to return their relationship to what it had been a month before, when Greg suddenly turned and left.

Fifteen minutes later, Mycroft received a text.

**You’re an idiot. Fix it. —SH**

Mycroft groaned inwardly and set his mind to figuring out a solution to this mess that he had somehow made.

***

Greg made it back to his office before having his breakdown, slamming the door shut and putting his face in his hands, feeling the tears that had been threatening start to fall freely.

A throat cleared in the corner and Greg looked up to see John and Sherlock.

“Bloody typical,” Greg said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and sitting at his desk. “What do you two want?”

“Trouble in paradise? Would this have anything to do with my brother suddenly deciding that he had pressing business abroad?” Sherlock asked, sounding disinterested as always.

“Out with what you want or you can get out of my office,” Greg said through gritted teeth, his hands clenching into fists.

“Oh, I just wanted to make sure that you knew Mycroft was back and trying to avoid you. But clearly you already know that. You really need to get your emotions under control, Lestrade. I don’t know how you manage to get anything done when you spend so much time pining after chubby government officials.”

He turned and left, leaving John standing there awkwardly. “Sorry about him. He’s upset that you and Mycroft aren’t together anymore.”

“We were never together, John,” Greg said, sounding much more miserable than he intended.

“Well, whatever you were. Sherlock was happy that you two had found each other. He seemed to think that he didn’t have to worry about either of you if you were occupied with each other.”

“Sherlock has never worried about either of us anyway,” Greg said.

John shrugged and left, leaving Greg alone with his thoughts and his tears.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this and some parts of it are inspired by the song [Could Have Been Me](https://vimeo.com/74100340) by the Struts. Basically, it was a 2000 word story and while I was driving to a coffee shop to write it, I heard that song on the radio and now it's going to be more like 7000-8000 words.
> 
> Thank you everyone for the comments and the kudos! I can't express how happy they make me. I love every single one of you.
> 
> I'm looking for a beta reader, so if anyone is interested or knows where I can find a good beta, let me know. Right now my editing consists of "Eh, it's probably good. *posts*" 
> 
> Also, I'm on [Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/maebellesarah)

Mycroft rubbed his eyes, trying to make the spots he was seeing go away. He had been staring at an open email draft for the last two hours, trying to find the right words to say. He didn’t want to completely ruin his friendship with Greg by telling him the truth about how he felt, but he also wasn’t sure he could ever spend time with Greg again without touching him and kissing him. Greg doesn’t want a relationship, Greg doesn’t want a relationship… He had been repeating the same thing to himself over and over again, trying to force his brain to find a solution to this problem other than never seeing Greg again.

“Just tell him how you feel,” a voice in front of him said and he looked up from his desk with surprise to see Sherlock. Usually nothing escaped Mycroft’s notice, but this situation had shaken him so badly that he wasn’t his usual self.

“It really isn’t any of your concern, Sherlock,” Mycroft said with a sigh.

“It is my concern. I’m not getting any cases because Lestrade is too caught up in your nonsense to do his job.”

Of course. For a fleeting second, Mycroft had thought that Sherlock was trying to involve himself because he cared about Lestrade, but now he realized that Sherlock was being as selfish as ever.

“Get out.”

“All you have to do is tell Lestrade that you love him and he’ll realize that he wants to be as foolish and sentimental as you. Then things can get back to normal. I can work on my cases and you can continue doing nasty things to Lestrade and leaving me alone.”

“Get out!” Mycroft roared, slamming his hands down on his desk.

Sherlock stared. Mycroft hadn’t yelled at him since they were children, generally in favor of a quieter, more threatening approach to dealing with Sherlock when he was being difficult. Sherlock took a deep breath, as if he needed to steady himself, and then he backed slowly out of the room, keeping his eyes on Mycroft.

Mycroft put his head in his hands, unsure of how to respond to this new anger that he felt building inside of him. This whole situation had him off-kilter. He felt as if he were losing all of the self-control that he had spent decades building. His entire life consisted of everything being perfectly controlled, but now he was yelling at his brother and hitting things. It needed to end once and for all.

He turned to his computer and typed out a short, to the point message.

**Greg,**   
**It has become imperative for me to end our association. I can no longer enjoy a friendship with you, for personal reasons that I do not care to divulge.**   
**Farewell,**   
**Mycroft Holmes**

Before he sent the email, he briefly considered writing a new one that explained exactly how he was feeling, in the hopes that Greg felt the same way and would confess his love in response. Mycroft knew that Greg didn’t feel the same way, however, and he didn’t think that he would fare well after being rejected by Greg. The thought of receiving a response in which Greg tries to let Mycroft down gently would be too painful. Greg was a good man, the sort of man who would certainly feel a need to be kind about his rejection, which would just make it worse. The end result would be the same, of course, the two of them parting ways unhappily. Mycroft might as well cut out the middle bit, where he would surely suffer humiliation and pain with no reward.

***

Greg felt like he was dying. He didn’t quite understand why, because they had only been friends, but he was feeling more pain than he did when he found out about his wife’s affairs and had divorced her. They hadn’t only been friends, he told himself for what seemed to be the millionth time, they had been the best of friends and then had been the best of lovers. That still wasn’t quite right, though. They hadn’t been lovers, they had been friends who had sex. Really, really amazing sex.

Greg shook his head, trying to clear it. The last thing he needed was to be reminded of how great Mycroft was in bed and how much he was going to miss that part of the relationship. He forced his mind back to the email he had received earlier, just after returning to his office from lunch. He had taken the rest of the day off after realizing that he was in no state to work.

“You have to tell him how you feel, mate,” John’s voice said from next to him on the couch. John had arrived five minutes after Greg, no doubt well aware of everything that was happening from Sherlock.

“He doesn’t even want to be friends anymore, I doubt he wants to start a relationship. Mycroft doesn’t want a relationship, just sex.”

John sighed. They had been having the same conversation for nearly an hour: John said to be honest about what he wanted and Greg explained that Mycroft didn’t want that.

“You know Mycroft. He isn’t interested in ‘sentiment’. If I told him that I love him, he’ll say something Mycroft-like and it will be so much worse.”

“I hate to be the one to break this to you, but I’m pretty sure Mycroft feels the same way about you. Sherlock seems to think that he’s in love with you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Greg muttered, picking up his bottle of beer and taking a swig. He had decided that drinking was a good solution to his problem. It didn’t seem to be working, but that probably meant that he just had to drink more.

“He yelled at Sherlock today. Sherlock was really shaken by it. It’s so out of character for him. Have you ever heard him yell?”

Greg closed his eyes, trying to shut out images of Mycroft on his hands and knees, screaming in pleasure. “You’re not really helping me forget him.”

“I don’t want you to forget him. I want you to realize that you need to be with him and go convince him of that. I want you to be happy and in love.”

“Like you and Sherlock?” Greg asked, rounding on him. “How do you have any right to lecture me about anything? Why don’t you go tell Sherlock how you feel about him, then?”

“That’s different. My relationship with Sherlock is very different than your relationship with Lestrade.”

“Bollocks. It’s exactly the same in that you’re in love with your crazy genius best friend who doesn’t believe in emotions or romantic relationships. The only difference is that I got some sex from mine before he realized that he doesn’t need me.”

John was quiet for a moment before sighing heavily. “Well I’m not currently losing my ‘crazy genius best friend’ because I’m too proud to go and tell him the truth about my feelings.”

“Well bully for you. Why don’t you go spend some time with him and leave me to my misery?”

“I think I will. All you have to do is tell him how you feel. Then he’ll fall passionately in love with you and you’ll stop moping around your house.”

***

Mycroft didn’t hear back from Greg. He didn’t hear anything from Sherlock for quite some time, keeping an eye on his brother from afar. He seemed to have regained control of his emotions, returning to his former, cold self. Thoughts of Greg mostly left his mind, except, perhaps, when he was in bed at night or taking an extra long shower. He never allowed himself to think of those times after they were over, brushing them off as a reaction from his libido to going from regular sexual encounters to none at all. He considered finding release somewhere else, as he assumed Greg was now that he had gotten his interest in sex with a man out of his system, but he decided against that as more trouble than it was worth.

He managed to avoid both Greg and Sherlock for over a month. One day he was working and he realized that one of his operations was going to intersect with a case that Greg was having Sherlock help with. Sending word to his assistant, he asked her to keep him informed on the operation in case he needed to intercede.

The next day, he received word that one of his associates had been killed. One of his very important associates. It was related to the operation and Greg had been called in to find the murderer. Mycroft didn’t want to, but he needed to step into the situation to maintain control of it.

He didn’t let himself examine his motives for going home and taking a shower and changing into a clean suit before going to the crime scene, telling himself that it had been a long day and he would have changed before doing anything that involved seeing other people. He did notice that he was putting on the aftershave that Greg liked and Greg’s favorite suit, but he ignored that nagging voice in his head that said he had any motives other than getting the operation ended.

He arrived at the crime scene to see John and Sherlock standing near the tape, talking to Greg. He briefly considered sending his assistant, but he thought that not going himself when he was right there might just cause problems. He straightened his suit as he stepped out of the car, taking his umbrella with him for something to hold onto.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said in his coolest voice as he walked up. He saw Greg stiffen at his approach and steeled himself, putting his best sneer on his face.

“What do you want?” John asked.

Obviously Mycroft’s actions had not endeared him to John. Not sure exactly why John seemed so annoyed at Mycroft, he snorted derisively and turned to Greg.

“We appear to be overlapping in an official capacity,” he said, hearing his voice waver ever so slightly. He hoped that no one else heard it, but he saw Sherlock’s eyes flash in a knowing way.

“I don’t have time for your nonsense right now, Holmes,” Greg said and turned away.

“Boss, he’s some kind of government official,” Sally Donovan said, walking up. Mycroft had never actually met her, but he knew who she was. He was sure that Greg had told her nothing of their friendship, so she was his best bet for getting what he needed at the moment.

Reluctantly, Greg turned around. “He’s one of yours, Mister Holmes?”

“Yes, Detective Inspector. We need to discuss how the case will be handled.”

“Who’s this?” Sally asked, frowning.

“Government official,” Greg said gruffly. “And Sherlock’s brother.”

Sally looked Mycroft over with distaste. Ah, not a fan of Sherlock then. That might hurt his chances of getting appropriate cooperation.

“For our professional purposes, you can forget my relationship with Sherlock,” he said, holding out his hand to shake hers. “Mycroft Holmes.”

“I’ve forgotten your relationship to me,” Sherlock said flippantly, before turning and striding away. “You won’t have this case much longer, so I will be of no use. Call me when you have something with which my brother will not interfere.”

John stepped close to Mycroft and leaned in. “If you hurt Greg again, I don’t care what security people you have, you will pay.”

Mycroft tapped the tip of his umbrella on the ground, telling his people that John wasn’t a threat before they swooped in to protect him. He stared John down, wanting the man to know that he was totally unfazed by his show of machismo. He was slightly confused about what John said, though. He knew that Greg would be upset that they weren’t friends anymore, but Mycroft was the only person in the situation who should be hurt. He filed the comment away for later analysis and turned back to Greg and Sally as John followed Sherlock.

“Shall we return to your office, Detective Inspector?” Mycroft asked. Despite himself, he was hoping for some alone time with Greg.

“We will meet you there,” Greg said, not making eye contact.

Mycroft was slightly disappointed. He had been hoping that Greg would accept a ride in his car. He instructed his driver to follow the car Greg and Sally climbed into and was soon sitting in Greg’s office with a cup of bad tea in front of him.

***

“Okay, what’s going on here?” Sally asked as they stood outside Greg’s office, preparing to go in.

“What do you mean?” Greg asked evasively, trying not to look at her.

“There’s something between the two of you. Ex-boyfriend?” Sally asked, frowning.

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, I may not be Sherlock Holmes, but I am a detective, thank you,” she said annoyed. “So I’m right, then?”

“No. Ex-friend. It ended…badly. We haven’t spoken since and I need you to go in there with me.”

“You wanted to be more than friends and he didn’t?”

“Yes. Then he decided that we shouldn’t be friends.” Greg took a deep breath and led the way into the room, trying not to betray any of the thoughts racing through his head.

Mycroft glanced at Sally, then looked back at Greg’s face and narrowed his eyes. Deducing what was happening, no doubt.

“Stop that!” Greg barked. “You’re not going to come in here and read my bloody mind and act all superior. You’re going to tell me what you need me to do regarding this case and then you’re going to piss off.”

Mycroft stared at Greg, almost as if he was hurt by Greg’s words. That was silly, of course. Mycroft was the one that ruined everything, not Greg. Mycroft didn’t get to play the victim here and act innocent and injured. He had changed their friendship to something else and then he was the one who left, not Greg.

“Well, some interdepartmental cooperation would be appreciated for this case. We’ve been following along with it and didn’t step in until this most recent development,” Mycroft started to explain, but was interrupted by a short, humorless laugh from Greg.

“You’ve been checking up on us with this case? Why didn’t you meet for ‘interdepartmental cooperation’ before, Mister Holmes?”

Mycroft didn’t say anything, but his cheeks colored slightly. Greg knew Mycroft well enough to know that he was embarrassed. He had probably been avoiding Greg and now it was unavoidable that they meet.

Greg was starting to become annoyed with Mycroft avoiding him. He hadn’t done anything but what Mycroft had wanted. Sure, he had wanted more than friendship, but he hadn’t asked for anything other than what Mycroft offered. Greg had done his best to avoid giving any indication that he wanted something that would make Mycroft uncomfortable.

“I thought you would be able to handle this simple investigation without my interference,” Mycroft said, apparently deciding to strike back at Greg. “I must have been mistaken. Perhaps you need to hire more consultants.” He stood and turned to leave.

“Mycroft!” Greg shouted, all of the anger and frustration he was feeling finally bubbling over.

“Yes, Detective Inspector Lestrade?” Mycroft asked, looking back at Greg. His eyes and voice were cold, like he was looking at someone he had just met. He certainly didn’t look like he was looking at someone who he loved.

Greg felt like he had been punched in the gut. Mycroft clearly ended the friendship because he felt nothing for Greg and now that he had cut Greg entirely out of his life, he was forced to interact with him again. It hadn’t been embarrassment that Greg had seen on his face earlier, it had been annoyance at being questioned.

“I’ll send you the files on the case,” Greg said lamely, losing the will to fight.


	3. Chapter 3

“Where did that umbrella go?” Mycroft asked himself, looking around. His umbrella stand was suspiciously empty. “Sherlock?” he called, sure that his brother was behind this.

Not receiving a response, Mycroft sighed and went in search of his missing umbrella. He knew that Sherlock couldn’t have gotten far with the damned thing, his security would have caught him. Ah, that’s what he would do: the security cameras were bound to have a record of what Sherlock did with the umbrella. He returned to his office, calling his driver and telling him that he wouldn’t be going out after all and sitting down to watch the security footage on his computer.

He only carried to dratted thing out of necessity. He hated carrying it, but he carried important files in a hidden flash drive that fit securely in the handle. The trick had kept secret information secure for many years and he couldn’t change it without finding another way to keep the information.

After a few minutes, he found the footage he needed. He saw Sherlock sneaking in through a window, followed him to the umbrella stand, and watched him hide it in a closet that he wasn’t even aware existed, somewhere on the third floor. He considered sending one of his security agents, but he didn’t want to risk Sherlock getting shot over and umbrella he was probably just hiding to be childish. Extremely annoyed, Mycroft stood and went off in search of the closet.

With some difficulty, he found the correct closet. He really did need to get a floor plan for the house so that he didn’t have to go on a treasure hunt using fuzzy security footage.

Opening the closet door, he stepped inside and reached for the light. He couldn’t find it, so he stepped in further, groping blindly in the dark. Without warning, the door slammed shut and he heard the click of the lock from the outside. He finally found the light and pulled the cord, hearing a sharp intake of breath behind him.

“Bollocks,” a familiar voice said and Mycroft felt his heart sink.

***

Greg followed John and Sherlock, panting as he ran as quickly as possible to keep up. They really did do this too often, if they were able to run so fast. He had been outside a crime scene when Sherlock had shouted at him to follow them and he had done as he was told, of course.

“Who are we chasing?” he called ahead of him, slowing slightly.

“Murderer!” John shouted back. “Hurry up!”

They ran for what seemed like hours: down one alley, up another, over a building, down inside another building. It seemed like they were circling back quite often, but John had never led Greg astray, so Greg followed him. The neighborhood they were in seemed strangely familiar, but he was disoriented from their circuitous journey, so he pushed that feeling to the back of his mind.

“There he is!” Sherlock shouted, pointing up. By the time Greg reached him, the man was gone, though. Greg followed Sherlock through a window in a building and up some narrow stairs that led to a simple wooden door. Sherlock opened it, digging in his pockets for a torch, and Greg stepped into the room to see if he could find a light.

Before he knew what was happening, Sherlock slammed the door shut and he heard a lock click. “What the…” Greg wondered, trying to get his bearings in the room.

After about ten minutes, his eyes had only adjusted a little and he couldn’t find a light. Everything seemed to have disappeared from his pockets and he appeared to be in a largish closet with very little in it. A door opened, not the one he had used to enter, and he was blinded by the light from outside it. The door slammed shut again and finally a light clicked on. He couldn’t help his gasp when he realized who it was and muttered, “Bollocks.”

***

“What are you doing in a closet in my home, Detective Inspector?” Mycroft asked coldly, trying to hold in his excitement at seeing Greg. He had a strong suspicion that Sherlock had something to do with Greg’s appearance in an upstairs closet, but he held that particular deduction in, wondering what Greg was going to say.

“Your home?” Greg asked, looking adorably flustered. “I’m going to kill them.”

Mycroft couldn’t help his smile. “Sherlock and John? Ah, there’s what I needed,” he said, seeing his umbrella leaning up against an old couch that sat in the corner.

“Do you have a phone?” Greg asked.

“Of course.” Mycroft reached for where his phone normally lay and was disturbed to find it was gone. He looked for his panic button, which he only had in case of extreme emergency and it was also gone.

Greg laughed when he realized that Mycroft was without all of his lifelines as well. “You have to hand it to those two. They’re good.”

“We will have to repay the kindness,” Mycroft said, making use of the couch and sitting on it. “Please, have a seat.”

“Even locked in a closet with someone you hate, you are still a gentleman,” Greg noted as he sat down.

Hate? What could Greg possible mean by that? “I certainly don’t hate you, Greg.”

“Oh? Why did you end our friendship, then?” Greg asked, sounding more curious than angry. There was a note of sadness there as well that sent a stab of sorrow through Mycroft’s heart.

“That was a complicated decision,” Mycroft said, trying not to get into specifics.

“Yes, your bloody ‘personal reasons’. What does that even mean? The only personal reason to stop being friends with someone is that you don’t like that person. And that’s not very complicated.”

“You know this is what they want. Get us in a room together so we can discuss our feelings.”

“Feelings?” Greg asked, sounding almost hopeful.

Mycroft looked closely at Greg’s face. Every time they had met, he had carefully avoided looking at Greg’s face, because he didn’t want to see the hurt and disgust there. But he didn’t see pain, he didn’t see disgust, he just saw hope. He also noticed that Greg looked terrible: he was pale, he had dark circles under his eyes, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in a month.

Without thinking, Mycroft stepped forward and put his hand on Greg’s cheek. Greg leaned into the touch, letting his eyes drift closed. Mycroft wrapped his arms around Greg and smiled as Greg buried his face in the taller man’s neck.

“I love you,” Mycroft blurted out, unable to keep it in. He stiffened, waiting for Greg to jump back and tell him that he wasn’t interested. Instead, Greg shook slightly and Mycroft felt something wet on his neck. “Are you crying? What did I do?” Mycroft asked, bewildered at this new turn of events.

“I love you, too,” Greg said quietly.

“What? That’s not possible. You didn’t want a relationship, you just wanted sex.”

“Oh, you idiot,” Greg whispered, kissing Mycroft before he could say anything else.

“Why am I an idiot?” Mycroft asked, pulling back.

“We both are. You thought I—and I thought you—oh, we’re so silly.”

“I am not silly. I did exactly as you wanted.”

Greg chuckled. “Very well. You’re not silly. Now shut up and kiss me.”

***

“Do you think it’s been long enough?” John asked, looking at the computer over Sherlock’s shoulder, at the security footage of the hallway with the closet.

“It’s been twenty minutes. They have either made up or killed each other. Let’s go get them,” Sherlock said, jumping up.

“What if they’re busy?”

“What could they possibly be doing? They’re locked in a very nearly empty closet.”

John blushed. “I can think of a few things they could be doing in there.”

“Don’t be silly, John, there’s nothing in the closet.” He strode out of the room towards the closet and John followed him, still not sure.

Sherlock opened the closet door, let out a shout, and slammed it again. He fell dramatically against the wall, his head in his hands. Slightly concerned, John opened the door to see what had affected Sherlock so greatly.

Greg was on his hands and knees on the couch, grunting in pleasure as Mycroft thrust into him from behind. Next to them on the floor was a bottle of lubricant that John had left next to the couch as a joke, hoping they would all laugh about it after.

John shut the door and turned to Sherlock, unsure of what to say. “It looks like they made up.”

“We need to burn this house down,” Sherlock told him.

“I don’t think that will stop them,” John said, smiling. “Come on, let’s go home and I’ll make you forget all about your brother having sex.”

“How will you do that?” Sherlock asked, following him down the hallway.

“Oh, I’m sure I can think of something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone liked the ending! I agonized over it all day because I made the story a bit more angsty than I intended. I'm pleased with it, though, I hope everyone else is too.
> 
> Thank you for reading, thank you for the kudos, and millions of thanks to those of you who commented! 
> 
> I'm taking a break from writing for the rest of the week and then on Sunday I start my NaNo, which is going to be mostly Mystrade stories (maybe a bit of Johnlock, we'll see). If you enjoyed this story, make sure to check out what I post in November! (Or just subscribe and you'll get an email. :-D)


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